


Downward Dog

by gwen (gwennoble)



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Embarrased student stiles, M/M, Yoga instructor Scott, Yoga!AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-13
Updated: 2015-07-13
Packaged: 2018-04-09 02:25:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,977
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4330239
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gwennoble/pseuds/gwen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lydia forces Stiles to sign up for a yoga class, hoping to stop his anxious ass from annoying her to death with his jitteriness. The one thing Stiles didn't expect was that his instructor was going to be boner-inducingly attractive. Based on a prompt from recoverykhaleesi and imaginesciles.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Downward Dog

The moment Stiles walks into the studio, he regrets every decision he has ever made. He’s the only dude in a room full of middle aged women, unrolling their mats and chatting about their kids’ soccer practices and dance recitals. Why is he here, again?

Of course it had been Lydia. Ever since Stiles started working in the cubicle next to her, the redhead had made it her mission to turn Stiles into a sociable human being. He’s in his third year of Criminology and drowning in papers and assignments and exams - shaving or doing laundry is at the bottom of his priority list, and it kind of shows.

Lydia’s latest vocation has making Stiles a calmer person, more for her benefit than his. He has a tendency to click pens whenever he’s feeling anxious (a.k.a always), and Lydia has, more than once, thrown a stapler over the wall between their workspaces in protest.

“Jesus, Stiles,” she shouts one day, stapler flying past his face and crashing against the floor beside his chair, “you need to do yoga or something! I can feel your anxiety literally _wafting_ around this office.”

So here Stiles is; a well-lit, mirrored yoga studio a couple of blocks from the office. He usually spends his lunch break shoving curly fries into his face at the diner down the street, but Stiles thinks that if this works, he can avoid a black eye from Lydia’s now-dented stapler.

He unrolls his own mat (borrowed from Lydia, of course) in the back row, praying to god that he doesn’t fart halfway through the lesson. The door opens to his right, and someone walks in.

“Good afternoon, ladies!” That someone says, “Are we ready to start?”

As a chorus of agreements are said by the women around him, Stiles finds himself dumbstruck by the absolute hotness of his instructor. He’s a tan, muscular guy, beautiful smile on his crooked-jawed face, deep brown eyes scanning the room. He’s facing away from the mirrors, and Stiles silently cheers for choosing to sit off to the side, because he can see the instructors amazingly toned ass in the reflection.

He snaps back into the real world just in time to hear the instructor say, “For any newbies, I’m Scott, and don’t worry about doing any moves that look too challenging or scary. Yoga is an activity for people of all skills! We’re going to start with our lotus position…”

What follows are probably the most embarrassing twenty minutes Stiles has ever experienced. As the women around him transition flawlessly into body-contorting poses, Stiles grunts and groans his way into poor imitations of whatever Scott is doing. You would think that a guy as skinny as Stiles would have no trouble doing yoga, but you would think wrong.

Everything is made ten times worse by the instructor’s presence in the room. Stiles thanks his lucky stars that Scott has only stayed at the front of the room, demonstrating the poses for the rest of the class. He feels self-assured in the fact that he is hiding his patheticness behind the women in front of him.

“Now, to cool down, I’d like everyone to move into the downward dog pose, holding that for a few minutes. Don’t forget to breathe deeply!”

If Stiles could breathe at all, let alone deeply, he would sigh with relief. Even he knows how to do a downward dog. He pulls himself up into the bent position, content to chill like this until the end of the class.

At least, he thought he would be chilling. About two minutes into the pose, Stiles has finally reached the zen Lydia wanted him to reach when he feels two hands get suddenly placed on his hips. He’s about to freak out when he hears “Sorry, just readjusting you” from behind him and realizes that _Scott the crazy hot instructor is touching my body oh god his crotch is probably right near my butt, fuck fuck fuck._

Stiles is too shocked to protest as Scott gently guides his ass higher up in the air, pushes his hips a little to the left, taps his thigh to get him to bring his legs closer together. The entire thirty seconds of this (that feel like an eternity), Stiles notices with dread and a sinking heart that his blood is rushing south at an alarming rate. By the time Scott steps away with a kind smile and a nod, Stiles has a raging boner and knows that the tent in his sweats is probably visible from the moon.

Stiles quickly steps off his mat and pulls it up to cover his crotch, mutters something to the class about being late back to work, and rushes to the, thankfully empty, changing room. Where pushes his way into a washroom stall and shamelessly grabs his dick, spurting into a wad of toilet paper after an embarrassingly short amount of desperate tugs. Even though he knows he can’t really, Stiles imagines he can still feel the press of the instructor’s fingers into his hips.

At least Lydia is happy when Stiles has seemingly calmed down after he returns from the class, though he knows it’s probably from jerking off, not the actual exercise. Plus, he’s too busy for the rest of his shift, trying not to pop another boner at the thought of Scott’s arms or legs or hands or smile. Stiles’ cursed obsessive attention has honed in on it’s next target: fantasizing about his yoga instructor.

 

This obsession escalates to a point where Stiles is once again freaking out. Should he take another class? Should he ask Scott out? Should he never show his ashamed face again? He’s clicking his pen again, on top of jiggling his leg and grinding his teeth, which is why Lydia buys him a membership to Scott’s studio and a mat of his own, and lets him know that he will be going twice a week if he wants his money’s worth.

This starts off two torturous weeks of yoga. Stiles, thankfully, has succeeded in keeping his dick controlled during class - his masturbation schedule is a whole ‘nother story, though. After the two weeks, at which point Stiles would usually expect an obsession to fade, Scott is only becoming more attractive. He’s caring, laughs at the jokes women make in the class, and, most importantly, adjusts Stiles way more than Stiles suspects he actually needs. He’s not complaining - he’s actually improved a ton since starting the class. He’s even better than some of LuLuLemon wearing ladies that take a beginners class just to look good.

“Sorry, um, Stiles, can I talk to you for a moment?” Scott says one day, as class wraps up.

Stiles doesn’t ask how Scott knows his name, because he never gave it, and instead stops rolling up his mat to walk up to the front of the class.

“What’s up?”

Scott smiles warmly, “I was just wondering if you knew about the Intermediate class that happens during the same time every day. I know you’ve only been coming for a couple of weeks, but you’ve really improved. My buddy Isaac teaches the other class, and you could definitely benefit from some more challenging stuff.”

“Are you sure?” Stiles squeaks, flailing, already desperately coming up with an excuse to stay, “I mean, shouldn’t I really master these poses before I move on? And what if Isaac has a different teaching style than you? Won’t that throw me off my game? What if I’m ruined for yoga forever?”

Scott laughs, only cementing Stiles’ determination to stay, “You can obviously stay in my class if you want, Stiles. You’re the one paying.”

“I want to stay” Stiles says, and follows his dick instead of his brain as he all but pounces on Scott, lips pressed into the instructor’s before he even knows what he’s doing.

He’s about to pull away in embarrassment and apologize when a confident hand grasps the back of his neck, making Stiles gasp against Scott’s smiling mouth. Then Scott is kissing back, messily, like he’s wanted this for forever just as much as Stiles has. Stiles grabs Scott’s face and the other man moves his hands down to Stiles’ hips, mirroring his actions from that first class. Scott moves his mouth down Stiles’ neck, kissing tenderly along his collarbone and leaving Stiles unable to breathe.

He can’t exactly remember how they got onto Stiles’ yoga mat on the floor, but then they’re there, Scott straddling Stiles as he continues mouthing his neck, one hand snaking up Stiles’ shirt and grazing against his hard nipple. Stiles is doing his best to not die, right there, on the floor, in disbelief. He’s also trying not to cream his pants, because at this point it’s definitely a possibility.

Then Scott is sitting up, ass rubbing deliciously against Stiles’ crotch, and pulling off his shirt in one fluid motion before bending down to help Stiles out of his own t-shirt. Scott is flushed, cheeks red, smiling and panting above Stiles and his hands migrate down to unzip the fly of Stiles’ jeans. Stiles sucks in a sharp breath as the cold air hits his already hard cock, that breath stopping as Scott starts softly moving his hand up and down, thumb smearing the precum collecting on the head of Stiles’ dick. Stiles tries to keep his head up, wants to watch Scott’s hand working his leaking cock, but he doesn’t last long before he is flat on the ground, eyes screwed shut, moaning at every movement of Scott’s magical hand.

“Can I?” Scott asks from above him, and Stiles is about to muster the strength to ask what he’s talking about when he feels something brushing against his hole. He nods desperately, knows what Scott meant, and Stiles opens his eyes just in time to see Scott sucking on the index finger of the hand not jacking Stiles off, making sure it’s nice and wet before returning it to Stiles’ ass.

Stiles is panting heavily now, sweat gathering on just about every part of his body. Scott slowly pushes into Stiles’ hole, the burn greeting Stiles with just enough hurt and just enough goodness. He can feel his orgasm gathering in the pit of his stomach, can’t help it - with a muffled shout, he comes all over Scott’s hand and his own chest. He can feel Scott slowly pull his finger out, feels his ass clenching at the sudden empty feeling, but the majority of his thoughts are consumed by the _fucking amazing_ orgasm he just had.

He comes out of his post-orgasmic bliss just in time to see Scott pumping his own cock over Stiles, head thrown back as he works himself to the edge, cum shooting onto Stiles’ chest, mingling with his own.

Scott collapses onto the floor next to Stiles, both panting and staring at the ceiling.

“That was a way better workout than yoga,” Stiles finally says, breaking the silence, “Maybe we should do _that_ twice a week instead.”

"I'd have to charge you extra."  
  
"How  _did_ you know my name, anyways?" Stiles asks, rolling over to look at Scott, "I mean, I never introduced myself."  
  
"I may have snuck a peek at the registration files while our receptionist was in the bathroom," Scott admits, cheeks going a little red, "You were the only dude in my classes so it wasn't that hard to find." _  
_

Stiles swats playfully at Scott, though his inner monologue is yelling something along the lines of _The hot yoga instructor likes me back! He semi-stalked me!_ _  
_

After Stiles returns to work, about an hour later than he should be, Lydia makes sure to comment on how calm he finally seems to be, throwing in an “I told you so” for good measure.

Stiles can’t exactly disagree.


End file.
